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Philosophy in a Tea Cup
Dawnstar Keep: Library ' ---- ::''The Library of Dawnstar Keep is a source of wonder as much as it is a source of knowledge, as the majority of the tomes, scrolls, and documents, that can be found here did not previously exist in Fastheld before the rebirth of Light's Reach - or if they did, had long since become lost or misplaced. ::Though now the second largest source of literary work next to the Stanchion, the basic layout of the library is far from dramatic, following a general "H" path through the various shelves of neatly stacked books and tomes, and the occasional associated effect such as crystal balls and even a human skull or two that are being used as bookstops. The spacious room itself is actually rectangular in shape, but the tall shelves give a misleading sense of fictional design. ::The carpetting here, it should be noted, is a calm blue with black trim rather than the usual lush red, and the walls that also serve as the North Wing's outer wall even feature a few tall and crystal-clear windows to permit light to stream into the solitude of shelves and script during the day. The stone walls remain that same dark bluish-gray, however, yet most of it remains lost behind the rows of tomes. Tables upon which study rest in the northern ends of the "H" branches, while candles and lanterns can be located when the need arises. ---- '''Cats, no less liquid than their shadows, offer no angles to the wind. They slip, diminished, neat, through loopholes less than themselves. So it is that without obvious sight or sound, the Wildcat Prince of House Kahar slips into the library of Dawnstar Keep. With the moonlight beyond the Keep offering little in the way of illumination beyond the candles that already softly burn in their sentry against the darkness, it's not difficult for such a proverbial feline to slink around - especially when the shadows are holding court. Celeste pales first and then color returns to tinge her cheeks. "I... I did not mean to interrupt, your grace," stammers the noblewoman quickly. The falling of the pages and duchess's response brings a flinch of its own to the former scourge. "It... it is beautiful here," she offers by way of apology. Tug-tug. Good thing the corset is cinched tight of this awkward moment could become more so with a broken lacing. "Yes, yes it is a wonderful sight to behold. I'm still awaiting the moment that I rise out of bed from this dream but ne'er does it come," Agreeing softly, holding the place with equal reverence as Celeste, she busies her hands with restacking the toppled books and tucking them back into their neat little piles. A somewhat amused smile is offered shortly thereafter to the corset-fidgeting. "I'm not so fond of them, either. Have you tied it too tightly?" Voices! Although he most likely expected to find his quarry here, the apparent rise of a second rise gives the prowling Wildcat pause for thought. Still, with the shadows working with him rather than against him, the proverbial ball is very much in his equally proverbial court. And so, the Prince of the Blood decides to continue stalking the darkness for a little longer as he navigates the "H" shaped corridors between the high cases of books and parchments. "Vhramis once said that I prefer the feel of armor to that of velvets. Old habits and all,” Celeste mutter in explanation. A concerted effort is made, even to the crease of her brow, to try and stop the fidgeting. Lasting only a few moments before her hands seek to return to the gentle tugs. "You seem to be settling in well, cousin, and I've not seen a library of this magnitude since my time in the Stanchion," the former scourge wistfully sighs. "Feel free to browse at will," Rowena offers, gathering a pile of scrolls into her arms. She cranes her neck back and forth a few times before memory reminds her of where to place them. "I'm willing to wager that many of these readings may be relevant to the teachings of your chapel," a little sigh is offered in long overdue apology and she shuffles quietly around the corner of the row to hunt down the home for scroll number one and four, "the grand opening of which I'm sorely disappointed that I was unable to attend." "Relevant, or at least a treatise on tax evasion and the illegal sale of illegal items in an illegal manner," a regal purr from within the shadows offers by way of observational opinion, regarding the topic of books and the content contained within. "Which is one of those tomes that was forsaken for good reason, I imagine. The Light has some curious ideas about the applied restoration of lost texts for the betterment of future generations." In the pale light that is cast through the windows by the moons beyond, the shadow of the Prince of the Blood can just about be discerned now that voice gives rise to location. The soft light grants outline to the black surcoat, yet his eyes seem to be the most obvious point of reference, shining as if backlit with dusty-blue illumination, needing no external light source to be seen. Gemstones in the dark. "Ladies," he warmly offers by way of introduction. Celeste nibbles her lower lip, eyes darting over the stacks of books hungrily and nodding vaguely at the Duchess's words. "Duke Seamel was able to come, and brought many of his kin," notes the former scourge idly. Her hand reaching up to brush at one of the tomes, "thank you, cousin. It has been too long since I've been among such knowledge, and one of my regrets with parting with the Stanchion." A heavy sigh slipping from the Mikin's lips before seeking out the wandering form of the Duchess. "I seek your guidance, cousin." Startled at hearing the prince's voice, the former scourge spins about, eyes darting over the shadows and resting with a relieved smile at the incandescent gaze. She dips into a quick and unsteady curtsy to the prince. "Light's greetings, your grace," she mummers softly. Fwump-afwump goes two of the rolls, down for the count as Rowena twitches for the second time. Clenching those remaining in her hands with an equally clenched jaw, she huffs color back into her face and is quick to stuff the fallen back into line. "Hello, love," she replies blindly to Serath, peering an eye between shelved tomes to Celeste. "Guidance in what?" The sound of aged leather against timeless wood echoes her prompt as scroll number four is tucked neatly into place, sealing her former peek away from view. A feline-esque tilt of the head is given in Rowena's direction as the stacked books, piled scrolls, and who knows what else she's carrying, become a point of curiosity for the Wildcat. "Need a hand?" he inquires with a quiet tone of familiarity that attempts not to interject the conversations between the two Mikins already in progress. "Well, I wished to speak with you of the chapel and the Order," Celeste offers, still hesitant to speak the words. Each sound of a scroll or book sliding home catches the former scourge's attention, her hand continuing its delicate caress of the tome's spine. "I've been told that those of shadow cannot feel it when they are within the walls of Light's Reach, a reprieve you may call it." A darting glance given over to the prince, and a gentle nibbling to her lower lip while searching for the phrase among a room of near infinite words. "I was thinking of offering Night's Edge as a place for children to come and learn not only of the Light but if they were to find they were to carry such a burden," she takes a deep breath to steel her nerves, "how to leave and comes to terms with such." Silently, Rowena offers a few texts in Serath's direction, leaving it up to him and his uncanny memory of the place to put them away. "I think many more than simply children would find use for such an institution," Rowena murmurs and peers upwards at the emptied slot for scroll number one. Had she really been that tall an hour prior? A determined squint and toe-teetering shall determine if she's as successful putting it back as she was knocking it down. "But who do you suppose to offer them as mentor? That is to say, how many of those who have knowingly lived with the Light's Blessing for many years do not still fall into the incorrigible zealot category?" "A human failing," Serath matter-of-factly notes will taking on whatever Rowena deems fit to burden him with, the tomes stacking up soon after. It's too dark to glean the names of the titles upon the spines of the tomes, so he doesn't bother trying, instead content to wander away a little and - truthfully - put the tomes in whatever space they'll fit. Celeste darts a glance to the prince and back to the tome beneath her fingertip. "There are those that already carry such a burden and those like *us*," she offers. "We have become friends and confidantes. Each wishing to see the betterment of Fastheld and find our place among a world that is slow to change." She grins down at the book, almost secretive with the couple busying about the books. "There must always be those who are willing to step forward and be of the people and help them. Such is, in part, what we wish to offer to the people who feel... well, lost." "You seem to know your own cause very well enough," Rowena says between hops to push the text *just so* back into its former position. "And so, despite risk of sounding indifferent or bothersome, I'll ask again - How is it you seek my help?" Very gently, she lowers her hand then body and steps back away from the shelf to look up into its shadows with satisfaction. One tome, two tomes, three tomes; one home, two homes, three homes. The Wildcat Prince seems to make short work of his assigned task, nodding to himself in the completion of said project before soundlessly turning to pace through the shadows back towards Rowena and company. "Because one brings my questions of the other, cousin. I have heard of this Order and need to know *who* it seeks among its numbers," says Celeste soft but firmly. "Will it only be those like us? Will they take a Freelander. A Mage?" She nibbles her lower lip. Nice book, pretty book. "I'll leave Serath to discuss this Order of the White Dragon. But if it's the knightly order in formation that you speak of, well..." Rowena rolls her neck once to ease out the kinks that come of hours of hunched book devouring. "Noble blood of the Mikin line, free of Shadow's taint, preferably. I suppose that a thorough examination of one's self control, etc could be grounds for an exception to be made." Next to be kneaded out are the shoulders and so Rowena does so with relish, retreating back around the corner to her former nook. Serath watches Rowena retreat back into her alcove of textual works and her world of previously-lost parchments with a hint of both affection and amusement playing upon his features. Once vision provides no further perception for the memory to cherish, the Prince turns back to look upon Celeste, his expression fading to one of reserved resignation as he beholds the former Scourge. A few moments pass before he finally inquires, "You’re concerned about the lack of Shadow in Light's Reach, I read? That’s a curious thing to be concerned about, Lady Celeste." "Light guide and protect you, cousin," Celeste calls to her cousin, nodding at hearing the woman's words and looking back to Serath a reserved expression. "I do not fear for the lack of shadow within Light's Reach, your Grace. Is it not a city built by the grace of Light? Would it not work against feeling the corruption of the Shadow?" She shakes her head, "No, I worry for representation of those who wish to protect Fastheld. Many would give their lives for the Empire and will never be given the opportunity because of the misfortune of birth," explains the woman in hushed tones. "One even told me of his experience at trying to protect against an attempt on your life, here in Light's Reach," she offers. Her hand finally turns away from the book to wave at the air, encompassing of the room. Allowing her beau to take charge of a discussion she deems him more fitting to endure, Rowena makes herself scarce amidst the majestic volumes. "In all fairness, Kael was fighting to protect his own life, having been in the wrong place at the wrong time," Serath offers by way of correction, choosing this moment to fold his arms against his chest before leaning against the nearest bookcase. "That is not to say that his role in that encounter was not appreciated, but let's not recreate events to suit our own agenda." Celeste sighs, shaking her head. "I've no agenda, your grace. My life was given over to helping Fastheld, and that is what I'm intending to do. Master Firelight is a humble man, and allowed me the privilege of reading your letter to him. So it is my own assumption bears insult, and for that I humbly apologize," replies the former scourge. "Though again I would wish to know more of the Order, if I may impose upon you a bit longer. There are some among those at our chapel that may be suitable to their purpose." The Wildcat smiles at that. "Of course you have an agenda," he purrs, a knowing look present upon his features as he regards Celeste, "Otherwise you wouldn't have cited such an example in an effort to give validity to your statement. You'll find I'm a little sharper than your average Noble, Viscountess, and somewhat more unconventional too. But I digress." "First of all, I think we need to be clear what it is you're seeking to do at Night's Edge, as it seems to me - from what I hear as a matter of opinion, rather than fact - that the nature of the monastary seems to change each week. One week I hear concerns of dracolyte activity there, the next I hear that such rumors are mistaken. The week after that I hear that you're adopting a policy of knowingly accepting unmarked mages into the fold in direct contravention of the Imperial Law and to the detriment of Marked Mages across the Empire. Now I hear that you want it to become a school for Shadow Touched and Sunkissed alike, regardless of markings or backgrounds. Then I hear that you're naming Freelanders as Priests without any authority of qualification to do so." A pause follows that elaboration, yet there seems to be little in the way of malice or contempt in Serath's tone or upon his features. It would seem that he's merely laying out the cards as they've been presented to him. "So now I'd hear the truth from you: Do you actually follow a set path, or is it that you really have no clue as to what direction to follow?" Celeste takes a deep breath, once more tapping to the book. "It is always best to ask the one who sets the course than to listen to the words of others. The chapel was set up in the beginning for the teachings of the Light, such as one would find among the Stanchion without the violence and cruelty bestowed by some of my brethren. Yet, we all falter and fall down, when we are learning to crawl and stammer about looking for the right course and words." She looks up to meet the prince's incandescent gaze. "I was raised in the Church, your grace, followed it every day of my life. Then one day I realized that it was corrupt and that no matter the beauty of the Light, we were doing the shadows work. I walked away until the amnesty was passed. You see it was the church that broke in my eyes, you grace, not my faith. Would you not say that a Marked mage needs to know the Light more so than anyone? But again," she sighs, "I'm ministering." "The intent of the chapel for it is no longer just my dream, but that of everyone who comes. It is to bring others back to the Light, and possibly, if you and my cousin feels it is proper... a place to keep mages from falling to the shadow. Mistress Meian and Master Firelight are both marked, as is others who come to my door. If one is touched by shadow and does not tell me, or if it comes to me that they are, then I suggest they take the mark." "As for priests," mummers Celeste. "A priest is nothing more than someone who wishes to teach their faith. It holds no power or sway more so than what is in a person's heart. I was a scourge, your grace. No one looked to me and called me a priest that is a mantle I took upon myself. Just as those who would wish to teach the Light at the chapel would wish to take up a similar mantle, and help those who have lost their way. Is that wrong?" "It is, on two accounts." The Prince - perhaps unexpectedly - remarks after giving Celeste enough time to catch her breath. "Titles have power, Viscountess. You alone should know that, given the impact that the title of "Scourge" can have in both positive and negative aspects. By empowering people with the title of Priest, you are giving them authority in the eyes of their peers, and among those who are easily swayed by such things. Preaching your faith does not make you a Priest, lest the majority of Fastheld would claim that title for themselves." "Secondly," he continues, his voice calm and measured, leaving no room for flaw, "The Mark is important. It is perhaps THE most important level of equality that the Shadow Touched have been able to attain over the last six hundred years. Perhaps THE most important level of equality ever. When you merely *suggest* that the Shadow Touched who do not have the Mark take it, rather than enforce it, you are hurting every single person who *has* been brave enough to brand themselves and take the protection the Imperial Law is offering them." "As the architect of the Mark, it pains me to see them wounded by indifference for those who snub what is being offered." Celeste looks back to the spine of the book, something to do with Light's Crossing or other. "I know the importance of the Mark, your grace. At times, I've considered taking it as well to show that even the holy blessed can be dangerous. Such was proven in East Leg not even a fortnight ago. And those who seek my counsel, tend to follow it as well, your grace," she says softly. "Titles are funny things, sometimes that is all a person is willing to see. Armor so golden that they do not see the person beneath but only the glow of man's eyes or the Light they bring within themselves. That is why I rarely refer to myself as a priest unless I'm ministering to one has lost his way," she continues in the hushed reverent tones. "Those who have come to me and asked to learn the ways of a priest would be the ones that I would send to seek out the Order, but if one was to bear a Mark on their cheek... would it make them any less a follower of the Light?" "Hypothetical questions demand hypothetical questions," Serath purrs, offering a smile once more as he stands there before Celeste. "If one were to come to you as Sunkissed, would that make them any more a follower of the Light?" "Not at all, a man should be able to chose his own destiny and not have it forced upon him," she states firmly. "If a man is a mason but born to the Light, it should be his chose... no, his right, to chose what the future will hold." "We are our parents' children, but we make our own fates. The tree drops the nut, but has no say over how it flourishes." A few moments of quiet interject themselves in the wake of that statement, perhaps filled by the occasional sound of a page being turned over, or the scuffle of parchment being unfolded. In turn, Serath waits for a reply. "Why do you think my words were hypothetical, your grace?" Celeste questions, still keeping her gaze to the books than to the blue glow of the prince's eyes. "Because they are," Serath quite honestly and directly answers, waiting for a moment before quoting: "If one was to bear a Mark on their cheek, would it make them any less a follower of the Light?" Again, a pause interjects his line of reasoning. "Hypothetical." "I've a woman who bears the mark and wishes to be a priest," states the Mikin plainly. "The woman who helped to open my eyes was a priest of Light... and Touched. So is it truly so hypothetical when faced with people who wish only to serve the Light, your grace?" She nibbles her lower lip, and finally turns to meet the prince's gaze. "But we both digress now, you wished to know of the chapel and I of the Order. Have I allayed your fears, or only given you cause to worry that we have lost our way?" What indeed? It takes the Prince a moment or two before he gives his verdict in the answer to Celeste's question. "Truthfully," he purrs, "You haven't really given me much more than hypothetical questions. There is a woman who is Touched who spoke of the Light. Is that so unusual? No. Does that make her a Priest? No. Does that one example establish your previous question as a universal truth? No." The Wildcat sighs at that, his expression again adopting that look of reservation as he regards Celeste with some degree of contemplation, "I think you're floundering without direction, looking away from Black and White and placing too much faith in this Gray you've encounter as a color for your dogma. Except Gray is not a color - it is the blurring of two others. Gray is indecision, and neither I, the Light, nor the Shadow, have time for it. You speak of these things but seem to miss the point. Light and Shadow are absolute, Celeste. There IS no Gray, there are only people, and you would do well to remember that." "You are right, your grace. The grays do not exist in the Light and Shadow but within ourselves; within man," notes Celeste gently. "No man truly lives without some hint of corruption or blessing, even when born with neither the touch of shadow or light to their being." "One should strive for the Light, your grace, for no man or woman can truly be the perfection of such beauty. Such is the way of man," she sighs. "Flawed." "You say those words," replies the measured purr of the Prince, "But I do not think you understand what they mean. You speak of the Shadow and the Light as one and the same - as if mere sides of the same coin, without even realizing it - when even a child can tell you that it is not so." With that said, the Wildcat seems to have made his final evaluation of the former Scourge of the Stanchion, pushing himself up from his leaning position and moving his gloved hands to slip them into the pockets of the surcoat. "You list phrases and preach terms that appeal to those who hear them, but that do not really have substance, nor string together to provide the foundation of real faith. Celeste, in all honesty, I worry about you and your path." Celeste shakes her head, "Shadow is all that is evil and negative of this world, your grace. Or at least to my mind, it is. There is no beauty in it and evil brings a taint to the person who calls upon it because they are unable to abate some insatiable need. Light, though, is what any man, woman and child should strive to represent. No, these two counterparts will never be equal but neither does a man live the most pure of lives. Yet with a Marked man or woman, they cannot truly turn from the shadow he is born to for it is ever-present. Instead, they must learn to strive even harder than the rest to reach what may be easier to another; to seek a dawn, if you will, instead of the brilliance of Light. My path is firmly and has always been to the Light, your grace. It has never faltered even when called upon to fight against others who held the same faith." A hint of a rueful laugh touches at her lips. "As to my words, you try to find the words to give voice to a faith, an ideal, for another to understand. With understanding and time, comes enlightenment. Such as with this library," she states with a wave of her hand to the bookcases, "there is no knowledge to be gleamed if one does not take the time to look beneath the surface," she states with a tap to the tome she's been studying It would seem that the concern upon the Wildcat Prince's features has not been removed by Celeste's lecture; Serath remains unconvinced. "Again, you recite ideals and proverbs and banality, but it all rings hollow as if only to appease the listener. You play a familiar tune, but don't understand the meaning of the song. You contradict yourself at every turn, but justify it all in a barrage of blind zealotry to a cause of your own making." With a sigh, Serath closes his eyes, taking a step back as if to move away, but stopping after that step is taken to again look upon Celeste. "Your elaboration is as shallow as it is misleading, Celeste; though I do not believe it intentional. You seem lost in your own ideology, as flawed and vapid as it is, without direction or goal." At that, he does turn away, leaving the former Scourge behind him and the no doubt sleeping Duchess to her dreams. "These words? This adulation? Set them aside. These conclusions and ideals you've created and made substance? Forsake them." He pauses once last time, and a final look back follows. "Find Milora Lomasa," he states, "Go to Apple Village. Say nothing of what you see, and ask only what her eyes behold. Listen to what she has to say. Listen to the precepts and convictions of everyone not under the sway of your doctrine, and then return to me. Maybe then... maybe then you'll understand." Celeste shakes her head, offering no more to the conversation but unable to hide the tears that slowly well within her eyes. She looks back to the book, brushing a fingertip across the spine. "My faith is pure... I just… wish you could see that." The words are mumbled and for no audience but herself. "I don't doubt your faith." Serath offers as a final note, his voice quiet but not without compassion as he walks deeper into the Shadows of the library, leaving Celeste in his wake. "Only your direction." ---- ''Return to Season 6 (2007) Category:Logs